


Sit On My Knee, And Fall In Love With Me

by SaffieDarling



Category: Leverage
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-19
Updated: 2012-04-19
Packaged: 2017-11-03 22:15:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaffieDarling/pseuds/SaffieDarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...right now, Hardison was willing to let Eliot to develop a taste for hobbit/dwarf interspecies bondage porn just so long as he retained his affinity for sucking Hardison's cock. Preferably for, like, ever."</p>
<p>A night in Hardison's apartment. There's a bit of schmoop, and something almost approaching a story if you squint, but it's mainly porn. And a bit of snarking. But mainly porn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sit On My Knee, And Fall In Love With Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Dallas Crane for reasons unknown. Betaed by Candygramme who fought a valiant battle against my aversion to commas.

Hardison was finally coming to terms with Eliot's unwillingness to define his sexuality.

“Why do you even care, Hardison?” Eliot had demanded the last time Hardison had asked. Admittedly, up against the wall of Nate’s apartment may not have been the best place to hold the conversation, but Eliot had gone from flirting with Cora to dragging Hardison upstairs without so much as a “how's your Nana?” and that kind of whiplash would make any man wonder where he stood. Or was held, in that case by strong hands and powerful thighs.

“I mean,” Eliot had continued, unbuttoning Hardison's shirt and letting his fingers ghost across warm skin. “I like my cock in warm, wet places. I like other people's cocks in _my_ warm, wet places. I like the people they're attached to. You gotta label for that?”

Hardison had been about to say he did, actually, but then Eliot had rolled his hips like _that_ , and flicked his tongue right _there_ , and Hardison's considered and coherent argument came out as more of a moan with a little bit of “oh fuck, El.”

(Later, when his brain came back online, and they'd argued over who was going to explain to Nate about the lamp, Hardison caught on to the other part of Eliot's monologue. “You like me?” Hardison had nudged Eliot awake to ask. “Murrpff.” Eliot had said to the arm of the couch.)

So yes, Eliot had so far avoided Hardison's compulsive need to _understand_ , but right now, Hardison was willing to let Eliot to develop a taste for hobbit/dwarf interspecies bondage porn just so long as he retained his affinity for sucking Hardison's cock. Preferably for, like, ever.

“You still with me sweetheart?” Eliot said, rocking back on to his heels, causing Hardison's eyes to snap back open. The comment had interrupted Hardison's musing, but more distressingly, meant Eliot also stopped doing that thing with his tongue. Eliot waggled his eyebrows. “'Cause I gotta say, if I knew all it took to shut you up was to suck your cock, I would've gotten on my knees a lot sooner.”

Hardison raised his head to focus on Eliot – shirt falling open, lips red and swollen, impractically tight jeans displaying an impressive, if uncomfortable looking bulge. Hardison gave in to temptation and reached out to tweak one dusky nipple, watching greedily as Eliot's eyes fluttered shut and his dick jumped. Hardison tweaked it again, and was rewarded with a reaction that made him start to worry about the structural integrity of Eliot's jeans.

“Well _babydoll_ ,” Hardison drawled, ignoring Eliot's half-hearted glare, “if I knew you'd look so pretty with a mouth full of cock, I probably would of let you.”

“Would _have_.” mumbled Eliot, before pulling off Hardison again to raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? I have your cock in my mouth and you think now is a good time to start calling me 'pretty'?”

He had a point. But Hardison apparently had a death wish, or was at least unafraid of castration because he just pointedly circled his hips and gently nudged Eliot's head. “You’re the one who thinks now is a good time to correct my grammar. And you're not any danger to my manly bits while you're sitting there yelling at me now, are you?”

Eliot scowled, but his heart obviously wasn’t in it, and he allowed Hardison to guide his head back towards his lap. So of course Hardison pushed his luck.

“That and you are pretty. Fucking… oh yeah, fucking gorgeous. You, shit, you try to hide under the scars, and the stubble, and the scowls, but you gotta know what you look like.” Hardison caressed Eliot's cheek then traced the outline of his dick, ending at Eliot's lips. “I mean this mouth... fuck.” Hardison bit his lip as he pushed a finger in alongside his cock, stretching Eliot's lips wide. Wider. “This fucking mouth. God you look so good like this, Eliot, so fucking good when you're full of me.”

One day Hardison was going to pay for calling a man who could kill him as easily as breathing “pretty”, but today was not that day. Eliot was trying to scowl around his mouthful again, but his chest hitched, and Hardison saw one hand drop to push hard against the cock that was still threatening to burst out of Eliot’s jeans. Hardison gently pushed Eliot's head out of his lap and grabbed the errant hand that was now fumbling with the button on Eliot’s jeans.

“Nuh uh, not so fast El, wanna do you right, get you properly stuffed. You're always so fucking pretty when you sit on my dick.”

“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Eliot was squirming now, hips shifting desperately as he looked for any kind of friction. “Fuck, yeah, hurry up.” Hardison loved him like this, all needy and desperate. Eliot may prefer to bottom more often than not, but it didn't stop him from being one mouthy little son of a bitch. It was always a thrill when Hardison was able to take him apart and replace the smart-arsed remarks with the breathy little wrecked sounds Eliot was making now as Hardison pulled him in to his lap and traced his tongue over that smooth, broad chest.

Hardison realised he'd gotten lost in his thoughts again when Eliot growled, or maybe whined, and bucked his still-clothed hips restlessly. “Seriously man, are you trying to think my jeans off here? Because I've got Brutus in the cupboard if you'd rather just sit there and meditate.”

Oh hell no. Not that far gone then. And it was obviously time to step this up a notch because Hardison was really not going to be cast aside for Eliot's favourite dildo.

(Later again, while Eliot was showering and muttering about real food and Hardison's lack thereof, Hardison would find himself puzzling out when Eliot's favourite dildo had migrated to _Hardison's_ apartment.)

“I dunno man, I reckon I keep doing this...” Hardison bent to bite lightly at one of Eliot's nipples “...and you'll bust right out of your jeans without me doing anything.” Eliot rolled his eyes, but also bucked his hips. From there it was a flurry of undressing and a little bit of cursing and why Eliot still had his damn boots on Hardison would never know, but then Hardison had a lap full of Eliot Spencer riding three of his fingers and making more of those fucking sounds and, “God, El, please tell me you're ready.”

“Oh, so _now_ you're impatient.” Eliot was trying to growl, but his face and chest was flushed and it turned in to a whimper when Hardison twisted his fingers. “Fuck, okay yes, I'm ready, come on.” Hardison fumbled trying to open the condom packet with one hand, as Eliot showed no sign of wanting to give Hardison back possession of his other fingers, but finally he was slicked up and positioned below Eliot.

Eliot’s inhaled sharply as Hardison pushed slowly up. “Holy shit man, did you get bigger?”

Eliot was covered in a sheen of sweat, his back arched and his head thrown back as he slowly, agonisingly slowly, lowered himself on to Hardison's cock. He was biting his lip and wearing a look of intense focus as he impaled himself at a speed seemingly specifically designed to drive Hardison crazy.

Hardison thought that look was the hottest thing he'd ever seen, exactly as he was dying to fuck that focus right off Eliot's face, work him over till his eyes glazed over, and his brains leaked out his ear.

“Not bigger, man, it's just been too long. You woulda been fine if you had just let me take care of you properly sometime in the last six weeks.”

Eliot was still moving ever so slowly, but that didn’t stop him from glaring. “We were on a job, Hardison! Sharing a suite with Parker! She doesn't know how to knock!” Eliot was chewing on his lip now, and his eyes slid shut as he sank down another inch.

Hardison waggled his eyebrows. “Maybe she woulda joined in.”

Eliot scoffed. “She would've just watched. And provided commentary. I don't think your ego could take it. Now Sophie, Sophie would joi... oh Jesus fuck!”

Hardison had thrust up the last inch, and Eliot was now fully seated, shuddering at the intensity. Hardison ran his hands up Eliot's thighs and across his back, soothing him, and when Eliot spoke again his voice was rough and stripped back, his accent so thick he was practically slurring.

“Okay… okay. I say we stop talking about this and get to the part where you move already. Because I can feel you in my stomach, and if you don't do something soon...”

Hardison continued to stroke along Eliot’s side, pausing to run one hand slowly up Eliot’s straining cock. “Shh baby, it's all good. I got you. Just relax, and let me give you what you need.” Hardison started moving then, and Eliot moaned, the last of the tension melting out of him until he was riding Hardison, slowly and smoothly, his hips rolling in ways that Hardison wished were illegal, just so he could break that law over and over again. The harder Hardison pushed, the smoother Eliot rode, and the more Eliot talked, a poetry of pornography falling out of those wet-dream lips until Hardison felt like he was floating in a sea of silky movements and honey-rough words.

Afterwards, Eliot, as always, ignored the mess they’d made of the bed and pulled Hardison tight up against his chest. Hardison, as always, let him, because, well, who knew Eliot Spencer would be a cuddler, let alone a really, really enthusiastic one? Eventually though, his desire for food and a shower won out, and Hardison pried the limpet occasionally known as Eliot out of the bed and pushed him in the direction of the shower.

Eliot wasn’t making it easy for him, because when did that ever happen. “You are the prissiest guy I’ve ever slept with; you know that, right?” Eliot said, folding his arms. “I don’t want to shower now, I’m hungry” Lesser men would’ve looked ridiculous grumbling while standing naked and fucked out in the middle of a bedroom. Well naked except for the damn boots. Eliot managed to simultaneously look unbelievably attractive and like the cutest, although quite possibly the most dangerous, thing Hardison had ever seen.

He wasn’t going to give in though. “Are you serious? I know where your hands have been. Basic hygiene man, you clean yourself before you cook.”

Eliot raised one eyebrow. “Oh, so I’m cooking now am I? I’m cooking? If you’re so worried, you could always do your own damn cooking.”

“Oh, _I_ could cook? _Me_?” Hardison matched Eliot’s raised eyebrows with two of his own. “Well I guess I could cook, if I was allowed to touch the knives in my own… damn… kitchen” Eliot wasn’t the only one who could play the stubborn arm folding game.

Eliot’s scowl returned, and he waved his fingers at Hardison’s face. “Don’t… don’t you even think about going near my knives. I don’t have the kit here to reattach fingers.” 

He didn’t trust… his own kitche… _Eliot’s_ knives? Honestly, there was nothing for it. Hardison pushed Eliot up against the shower wall and kissed him thoroughly, pulling back to admire the lust rekindling in those bottomless blue eyes. “You know, I kind of love you, you pushy little shit.” He kissed Eliot again. “But just for that, I’m making dinner in my own damn apartment.” He considered the state of his cupboards for a second and reconsidered slightly. “Dinner might have to be hot pockets, so if you want to make me dessert I won’t argue.” He turned on his heel, leaving Eliot looking stunned against the wall. “Damn paranoid bastard. Doesn’t trust me in my own damn kitchen.”

(Later, after Eliot had MacGyvered an improbably delicious dessert out of the few edible things in Hardison’s apartment, and they’d cleaned up the disaster area of the dining table because apparently referencing MacGyver while rhapsodising about Eliot’s cooking was a surefire way to get Eliot back on his knees faster than you can say, ‘Richard Dean Ander-who?’, Eliot would press his face in to Hardison’s neck and whisper, “Love you too, you giant prissy geek.” And then get the bandaids. Eliot did warn him about the knives.)

**Author's Note:**

> So there you go, my first attempt at actual porn AND my first try writing Hardison/Eliot. Which would've gone much faster had the two of them stopped sniping at each other long enough to actually make with the sexy bits.
> 
> I don't know where the pseudo love story came from. This was just supposed to be a PWP.


End file.
